


Coughdrops

by Cumberbeau



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, I like it so far, Meet-Cute, coughdrops - Freeform, hashtag bad at tagging, it should be fun, we'll see how this goes, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumberbeau/pseuds/Cumberbeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting in front of the coughdrops leads far beyond what either of them could have ever anticipated.<br/>Will (eventually) span the next 30 years of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coughdrops

**Author's Note:**

> A little thing I got the idea for while eating my favourite coughdrops. It will take awhile to write out the entire story, so please be patient with me!  
> Enjoy~

 The heavy glass door of the little convenience shop slammed shut after her. She didn't have enough strength or rational thought to care, however—she was far more focused on obtaining what she had come for: a bag of cherry coughdrops.

The cherry ones were Jasmine's favourite. All the other flavours were either too boring, too tart, or just simply disgusting. Cherry was nice, it had the perfect combination of sweet and medicinally tangy, and therefore was the only kind she would ever buy. Out of the already-small selection of cherry-flavoured coughdrops, she preferred the _Halls_ brand. Not quite sure of the reason why, but that's how it was.

A sneeze set off a coughing fit as she walked through the aisles, causing other shoppers to turn and look at the shabbily-dressed and clearly sick girl, tutting quietly to themselves as she pulled out some tissues and attempted to stifle the noise.

Once she reached the aisle where the tea was stocked, the coughing had subsided, much to her relief. She scanned the shelves with a slower glance than usual, due to the throbbing headache that August had decided to include in its package deal. Cold weather. It was lovely, but the same could not be said for the problems that came along with it.

“There it is,” Jasmine breathed quietly, and stretched on her tiptoes to grab the last remaining box of mint tea. Again, she wasn't sure why, but mint tea was her preference whenever she was feeling under the weather. Which she certainly was now.

Having found the tea, she continued on to the section in the very back of the store. It wasn't very large, the store, but it contained a good variety of things at a decently low price, which she was grateful for. It wouldn't do to spend a large amount on things like milk, which she hardly used but was, in her opinion, too expensive at other shops.

There, over in the far corner, was her treasure.

“Yessssssss,” she whispered happily, ignoring the twinge in her throat as it threatened to erupt in another fit of loud coughs.

Walking out from the aisle, she came into full-view of the medicinal corner, and stopped. There was already someone standing there, a very tall someone who took up the entire floorspace in front of the coughdrops.

Jasmine resisted the urge to curse.

She was never much one for society and circumstances that forced her to interact with strangers. Doing so always made her feel inferior, which she hated with a passion. She greatly preferred reading alone, zoning out on her computer, or spending time with her best friend. Of course, going outside was wonderful, and so was people-watching, but when it came to the possibility of having to speak to those unknown people...

Nothing could be done about it, though, so she had to pluck up the courage—and indifference to the strangers—to get through whatever situation presented itself. This was clearly one of those times.

“Uhm,” Jasmine began, walking closer to the stranger and timidly touching his shoulder when he didn't respond immediately.

“Excuse me, sorry, could I get a bag of those, sorry, I'll be quick,” she said, as the man turned around.

He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a warm-looking blue jumper that appeared to be a size too big for him. From underneath the jumper, a light blue denim shirt peeked out. His rather large feet were covered by grey-and-black trainers, and his black, curly hair peeked out from underneath a green knitted hat that was patterned with what vaguely appeared to be fish.

“Oh!” Jasmine involuntarily squeaked as the stranger's identity registered in her brain; he was no longer a stranger, but Benedict Cumberbatch.

Benedict Cumberbatch holding two bags of _Halls_ cherry coughdrops.

“I am so sorry!” he exclaimed, moving out of the way immediately.

“N-no, it's okay,” Jasmine stuttered as she moved forward a bit, taking two bags off the shelf. “You get that kind too, it's my favourite, I always get two because I run out quickly, they're the best and I eat far too many but what can you do.”

She was rambling now, and Benedict looked amused.

“I like them too,” he said, gesturing to the bags in his hand. “In fact I was going to get a third, but the rational part of my brain disagreed and left me stood in front of the shelves, having a debate with myself.”

He chuckled as Jasmine's face lit up, a smile taking place of the neutral expression she had worn before.

“I do love them, but three may be a bit much, don't you think?” she asked, then looked down at her hands. “Though I suppose that two may seem a bit much for me, so three is probably fine for you, I'm sorry for interrupting—”

Benedict shook his head, and smiled.

“You didn't interrupt, it's fine. I've just got a terrible cold, or something, and I needed to pick these up.”

Jasmine looked up at him again, regaining her composure a bit.

“Me too! It's horrible, this time of year, all the sickness. Well anyway, I'll let you get back to your shopping, nice meeting you Mr. Cumberbatch,” and before her heart could convince her that, really, she should ask for a photograph, a hug, anything—she walked away, disappearing into the “Frozen Goods” aisle and not looking back.

As she speed-walked towards the chip-and-pin machines, Jasmine suddenly realized that she'd forgotten something. She paused to think near a shelf full of biscuits. However, this only made her stomach growl, and she still couldn't remember what else she needed to buy.

“Blast,” she muttered, and decided it wasn't important.

The biscuits, however, were.

 _When one is sick, one is entitled to whatever one may desire to eat,_ Jasmine argued _,_ against the part of her that said _Are biscuits really a good choice when I'm feeling sick?_

The ones she wanted—in quite a large box—were, like the tea from earlier, on the top shelf. There were also, unlike the tea from earlier, not within her reach. This of course did nothing to prevent her from trying all sorts of things that might allow her to get at them, including standing on tip-toes, reaching with one arm, reaching with both arms, and jumping up and down repeatedly.

Nothing worked.

Just as she was resigning herself to the fact that she wouldn't be having a nice snack with her tea later, and gazing forlornly at the out-of-reach box, a rather large hand came into view, picked up the biscuit box with ease, and brought it down in front of her.

Startled, she turned to face whomever had helped her, mentally preparing herself to thank them quietly and then be on her way, so as to avoid any unwanted conversations.

It was him. Again.

“Oh, hello!” Benedict said cheerfully as he recognized her from earlier. “I saw you having issues with reaching those biscuits, and thought I might assist you. Here,” and he held out the box again.

Jasmine carefully took it from his hand, noticing how tiny it looked when he held it, and that she had to use two hands, otherwise it would drop onto the floor. She rearranged the things she was holding so the biscuit box acted as a shelf for her tea and coughdrops.

“Thank you very much, the assistance is greatly appreciated. I had begun to despair,” she said, doing her best to act normal despite the fact that there he was for the second time, reaching up to grab two boxes of a different kind of biscuit, and looking beautiful while doing so.

 _Sweatpants suit you,_ she thought.

Her discreet appreciation of Benedict was interrupted when he placed another, smaller box on top of the one she already held, being careful so he didn't knock off the tea and coughdrops.

“You should try these, they're wonderful,” he said, gesturing to the box. “Oh! But you don't have to if you don't want, they're just nice...”

He trailed off, looking sheepish.

“These do look nice, and I can never say no to the chance of more biscuits. Thank you very much!” She looked up at him, smiling a happy and genuine smile, then nodded.

“I'd shake your hand in thanks as well, but as you can see, my arms are a bit full,” she laughed, looking down at the things she held.

 _Which is fortunate,_ she added mentally, _because otherwise I would definitely ask for a hug and a photograph, thank goodness I can't, I wouldn't want to ruin his quiet day but at the same time I don't know if I would have been able to stop myself from asking._

Benedict nodded back at her, and held up his hand in a little wave, smiling as he did so.

“Have a nice day,” he said.

“You too,” she responded, and they both moved away in different directions; Jasmine to the chip-and-pin machine, and Benedict to who-knows-where.

As Jasmine turned a corner and found the queue, she looked down at the small box of biscuits. They were Shortbreads, dipped in dark chocolate. She chuckled quietly to herself.

_My favourite coughdrops, my favourite chocolate, and my favourite actor. All in one day? This has got to be the best hour of my life._


	2. Daydreams and Impossible Scenarios

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting in front of the coughdrops leads far beyond what either of them could have ever anticipated.
> 
> Chapter 2 of "Coughdrops"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been awhile; I meant to publish this sooner!  
> I hope you enjoy~

Jasmine was in a daze as she walked home, barely registering her surroundings and only managing not to get lost because her feet had memorized the route.

_I just met Benedict Cumberbatch,_ kept running through her head. _I spoke to him,_ he _spoke to_ me _,_ _we had a conversation, he buys the same coughdrops,_ _he gave me biscuits?_

“OI!!” someone yelled, snapping her back to reality.

“Sorry, sorry!” she called, waving back at the angry man in some sort of fancy car, which had almost run over her as she meandered across the street.

_It won't do to be road-kill, Yazi,_ she scolded herself, now paying more attention to where she was going. _Think about him later._

A twenty-minute walk and a bunch of stairs found Jasmine standing at the door to her flat, messing with her key-ring in an attempt to get inside so she could put down the shopping. Biscuits were nice, yes, but a box as large as the one she'd picked out—not to mention the few other things—was bulky and weighed quite a bit. Normally it wouldn't bother her, but being sick made her weak.

“A-ha,” she muttered gleefully, having finally found the right key. A few quick motions of her wrist and she was in, toeing off her shoes and shutting the door behind her.

“I remembered to lock it this time,” she said aloud, as she manoeuvred her free hand to turn the lock and bolt the door—something she often neglected to do.

Jasmine traipsed to the kitchen and gratefully set the shopping on the counter, then continued into the living room and flopped face-first onto the sofa.

“Warm,” she sighed happily, tucking her feet under the blanket that had been strewn over half of the dark green couch, as she appreciated the fact that her flat had a fireplace. It not only provided welcomed heat, but created a cosy atmosphere as well. Light from the flames danced across the syrup-coloured wallpaper, which was patterned with intricate white flowers, and added to the warm and safe feeling.

“Want tea,” Jasmine debated out loud—a very bad habit of hers—as her body warmed up, “but too lazy to move. Tea, or warm sofa. Hmm. Biscuits? Nah, not now. How about tea _and_ sofa, and a coughdrop while I wait for the kettle.”

She swung her feet off the sofa and stood up. Then she headed to the kitchen, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders as she went.

The first thing she did when she entered her light-turquoise kitchen was locate the bag that held her cherry coughdrops. The packaging was a bit of a pain to get open, but she always managed, often with the help of scissors. This was despite the fact that the packaging clearly said “Tear Here”, and that scissors were supposedly not needed at all.

“One of the only things I like,” Jasmine muttered as she fiddled with the packaging, “about being sick, is I've got a valid excuse to buy these little buggers.”

The bag still wouldn't open.

“Grrrrrrrr—oh, hello.”

Now open, and quite noticeably ripped on one side, the bag let some of its contents jump out and spill all over the counter and floor.

“Damn. Should've known that would happen.”

Jasmine picked up one of the small, paper-wrapped coughdrops off of the counter.

“Let's see what words of wisdom I shall receive _this_ time,” she mused. Each _Halls_ coughdrop came individually wrapped in a small square of white, waxy paper. On it, little tan diamonds—about two centimetres across—offered short phrases of positive and encouraging words. Written in blue and surrounded by the tan diamond-shapes, the all-capital words had a cheerful and energetic air about them.

“ _DON'T GIVE UP_ _!_ ” Jasmine read as she popped the first—and definitely not the last—red coughdrop of the day into her mouth. “ _PUT YOUR GAME FACE ON_ _!_ _IT'S NOW OR NEVER_ _!_ _YOU'VE FACED WORSE_ _!_ Hm, not bad, I suppose most of those refer to me being sick, what would that third one refer to?”

She brought the paper closer to her face and inspected it carefully.

“It's now or never...”

“ _Heeeeyyyyyyyyyyy young BLOOD_ ” rang out suddenly from the living room.

Jasmine jumped.

“Someone's calling me, where's my mobile, where is it,” she muttered as she rushed back into the living room and began searching.

“ _DOESN'T it FEEL, like o-o-our time i-is runn-i-ing out_ ”

More scurrying and lifting pillows, but the mobile still could not be located.

“ _I'm gonna cha-ange you, like a re-emix, then I'll ra-ise you, like a—_ ”

“Hello?” Jasmine answered, interrupting the music without giving herself a chance to check the caller ID.

“You al-right? Sounding a bit out of breath there,” said the voice on the other end.

“Oh, hey, Tabita, how are, um, you? I'm, I'm not out of breath, no.” She was indeed.

“Did you misplace your mobile again? The living room'd better not be a mess, Yazi,” the girl said disapprovingly.

“Oi, shut up!” Jasmine laughed, trying to replace the pillows quietly so Tabita wouldn't hear.

“Anyway, I called to let you know I got to the flat safely, Hope has already got her laptops set up so you know what we'll be doing for the next week. She says hi, by the way. I'll see you when I get back, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jasmine affirmed, nodding at the phone. “Tell Hope I say hi in return, and you two be careful, al-right? Don't forget to eat—healthy, mind you—and shower while you're over there. I should be better be the time you come back.”

“Take care,” Tabita said happily.

“You too,” Jasmine responded, then hung up.

As she set about picking up all the spilt coughdrops off the kitchen floor, Jasmine pondered on what she should do over the next seven days she had to herself. Nothing sounded particularly appealing—being sick, even just a tad, could do that to a person—and all she wanted at the moment was to curl up in her cushy armchair, have some tea, and read a book. Or four.

“That's the last of them,” Jasmine sighed. Having finished clearing up the mess she'd made earlier, she turned back to the shopping on the counter and searched for her tea. Whilst doing so, the small biscuit box fell out.

“Damn! I need to stop dropping things, Christ...oh! Oh I forgot to tell Tabita!”

The little box of shortbread-and-dark-chocolate biscuits lay on the counter, reminding Jasmine of the encounter she'd had at the convenience store.

“Should I call her...or not...tell her...um...what to do...”

She knew that other people had run into celebrities—had run into Benedict—before, and always told the internet about the entire thing. For some reason, though, Jasmine wasn't too keen on reporting the incident to anyone, including her best friend Tabita. This was odd. The two were like sisters, and usually told each other everything, but...

“Is this what they call a 'gut-feeling'? Well, whatever it is, I think I'll keep this to myself.”

She found her tea and started the kettle boiling, thinking about her brief yet lovely conversations with Benedict.

“Sweatpants,” she giggled quietly, remembering the clothes he'd been wearing. “I wonder if he was in his flat and decided to get coughdrops, or if he was walking around all day in that outfit?”

She opened the box of tea and inhaled deeply.

“Yum. Mint. It's pretty funny,” she continued, retrieving a spoon from her silverware drawer and locating the sugar-jar, “that he bought the same coughdrops as me. I've got good taste! Actually, no, _he's_ got good taste; _I_ know they're delicious and he's smart to realize it.”

More laughter as she went back to the counter and picked up the biscuits he'd oh-so-subtly given her.

“He'd help a complete stranger and then recommend biscuits to them. Well that says something of his personality. What a sweetie,” she smiled, inspecting the box. “These really _do_ look good, definitely something I would've picked out, well done Benedict.”

She hesitated, then looked more closely at the box, turning it around in her hands and peering at all corners. Then she laughed, and shook her head.

“Of course he wouldn't stick a piece of paper with his mobile number on it, we're complete strangers. I've been reading too much fanfiction, I think.”

The tell-tale sound of a perfectly-heated kettle brought Jasmine back to her kitchen and away—for now—from daydreams and impossible scenarios.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is welcomed, whether positive or otherwise. 
> 
> I've started work on Chapter 3, so hopefully that will be up soon!


	3. Forgetfulness Leads Nowhere in Particular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting in front of the coughdrops leads far beyond what either of them could have ever anticipated.
> 
> Chapter 3 of "Coughdrops"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Chapter 3, mid-week like I promised! xx  
> Hope you enjoy~
> 
> [I'd like to say, thank you for all the nice things you've all said thus far. I really appreciate it.]

“No!”

Jasmine sat up with a start, nearly falling over in the process.

“Oh...God...” she sniffed, lifting her hands to her face and wiping away the tears there. She was out of breath and her heart rate was accelerated, her throat hurt, and the jeans and multiple shirts she was wearing stuck to her body with sweat.

She had just woken up from a bad dream.

Jasmine wasn't the type of person who had bad dreams frequently, but whenever she fell sick, they would haunt every minute of her sleep.

“Ughh, what time is it anyway,” she groaned, voice raspy from lack of use. She reached over to locate her mobile and check.

_16:04_ it blinked accusingly.

Jasmine blinked back.

“I've..” she started, then cleared her throat. “Ouch. I've been asleep for around five hours?”

Her stomach grumbled.

“...affirmative. I should get up now.”

As she slipped the mobile into her pocket, she untangled herself from the duvet and stood up, then folded it half-heartedly and placed it back onto the seat of the armchair where she'd napped. Her empty teacup sat on the floor, and she picked it up with a small sigh, carried it into the kitchen, and deposited it carefully into the sink. Jasmine figured she'd do the washing later. Right now, there were more important things to tend to.

“Biscuits,” she cheered quietly, retrieving the small box and taking it with her as she sat down in a chair at the kitchen table. She had been looking forward to trying the Cumberbiscuits—as she so teasingly named them—and now seemed like a perfect time to do so.

After carefully removing the tape that held the box closed, she lifted the flap and was greeted by a shiny, silver foil packaging. This took a minute to open, but she managed nonetheless.

“Oh, these look _good_ ,” Jasmine muttered, reaching in and taking one of the shortbread-and-dark-chocolate biscuits out of its container. She tentatively bit into it.

“ _Yummmm_.” She wiggled happily in her chair—she found herself doing this whenever she tasted something good—and closed her eyes.

“I figure those have _got_ to be the _best_ biscuits I've ever tasted in my _entire life_ ,” she announced to the empty kitchen. “Thank you to Benedict; I'll definitely be buying more of these in the future.”

As Jasmine finished eating the biscuit, she mentally planned out her day—or rather, what was left of the day. Five-hour naps don't leave much time for other things. That being said, there really wasn't much to do, except lounge around and read, or use her laptop. The flat was fairly clean, all major chores had been done, she didn't have any work that needed attention, and she'd showered that morning. She could be as lazy as she wanted for the rest of the day, and that was what she was going to do.

“ _Heeeeyyyyyyyyyyy young BLOOD_ ”

…or not.

“ _DOESN'T it FEEL—_ ”

“Hello Tabita,” Jasmine sighed, being quicker about answering the mobile this time.

“Hey Yazi! You sound a bit odd,” her friend replied with concern.

“Nah, I'm al-right. No different from this morning. What's going on?”

“Well...I sort of forgot that I have to read a book by next week. I called it in to the library, but then I forgot about it! They sent me a text just now, saying I need to pick it up by tomorrow. Could you...I mean, I know you're sick, but—”

Jasmine laughed. “You know I have to go get it, sick or not. It's fine. Besides, when do I _ever_ turn down an opportunity to go to the library?”

“Never,” Tabita promptly replied.

“I'll go pick it up tomorrow, then. Do you want me to bring it over to Hope's place?”

“I'm not sure. That might be good, though, yeah. If you don't mind, that is.”

Tabita knew that Jasmine could overstretch herself, especially when she was sick. But there really wasn't any other way for the book to be acquired—and therefore read—by next week, as Tabita couldn't get it herself. Jasmine wasn't too keen on her and Hope running about London alone. She grudgingly accepted her friend's offer to retrieve and deliver the book, then hung up.

“Well I've got something to do for _tomorrow_ ,” Jasmine mumbled as she rinsed her teacup, being careful not to drop it accidentally, “but nothing to do _today_. That means...” she trailed off; her attention was focused on drying the teacup. It was her favourite; a light turquoise colour, patterned with white flowers. Her mum had given it to her before Jasmine left America and moved to England.

“I should give my mum a call, and then I'll read.” She was intent on burying herself in a pile of duvets, tissues, and coughdrops, and reading until she fell asleep again.

“Hopefully I'll feel better by tomorrow,” Jasmine sighed, as she opened the cupboard above the sink and carefully replaced the teacup.

Then she set about unpacking the shopping. Biscuits, tea, coughdrops, Cumberbiscuits. Biscuits went in the pantry, tea went in the cupboard next to the stove, the closed coughdrops bag went on the counter—the open bag would be taken into Jasmine's room—and the Cumberbiscuits were carefully placed next to the sugar-jar and given a loving pat.

Jasmine froze.

“....oh dear. I remember what I'd forgotten.” Indeed, she _had_ forgotten; forgotten to buy toothpaste. “Thaaaaat's what it was,” she muttered. “I'll have to write it on my hand next time.”

Forgetting the toothpaste was a recurring issue, one which she had been reprimanded for multiple times. The only solution was to make another run to the convenience store before next week. She shrugged; that was a worry for another day.

“ _Kiss me, like you wanna be loved,_ ” Jasmine started singing as she headed for her bedroom. Once the door was shut and the lights turned on and dimmed, she made her way over to her bed, which was on the other side of the room, opposite the door.

“ _You wanna be loved._ ”

She continued humming quietly as she fluffed up her duvets and pillow, then crawled into the nest-like indent that had formed.

“Been awhile since I've taken refuge in a pile of cushy stuff.”

In bed and comfortable, she then reached over to the desk on her right—there was no left, as her bed was pushed up completely against the wall—and retrieved her laptop.

Gmail, tumblr, google-search Benedict Cumberbatch.

That was her nightly routine; three tabs open, a quick check of everything, then on went her “sleep” play-list while she dozed off.

Gmail; no new emails. Tumblr; entertaining as always. Google-search; any news? Hm, filming for Sherlock Season 4 will start soon, that's exciting. Although these media sources are a bit slow; tumblr has known of the filming for ages, God knows how.

Close gmail, close google-search, scroll through tumblr a bit. Nice edits, a couple good text posts, nothing particularly new or super exciting.

Jasmine scrolled back up, and a thought occurred to her. She wasn't going to tell anyone of her encounter with Benedict, of course, but she could make a little text post.

“ _Imagine,_ ” she typed, fingers flying over the keyboard, “ _you are at a s_ _hop_ _. Not a very large one, but its size is not important. You are walking through the aisles, searching for something. Maybe tea, maybe biscuits, maybe something odd like coughdrops. A favourite dessert, perhaps. It is quiet—well, quiet as a shop can be. Nonchalantly_ _, you walk down an aisle, then turn the corner. There, right in front of you, is Benedict Cumberbatch; Martin Freeman; Tom Hiddleston. Don't drop your tea, dear—opportunities like this come less than once a lifetime. Go and say hi._ ”

She paused for a minute, then added at the bottom, “ _Who would you want to run into at a convenience shop? How do you think an attempt at conversation would go? xx_ ”

Post.

Nobody would suspect that the little paragraph she just wrote had anything to do with her real life. It wasn't strange for various odd bits of writing to come from Jasmine's tumblr, which she renamed as “221b-ornot-221b-thatsthequestion” in a fit of pique one day after having the strong urge to reconstruct her entire blog into a fandom one. Previously it had been a boring personal blog; filled with the insignificant daily goings-on of her life. It was worth changing it, though. Nothing ever happened to her.

Until that morning, anyway. But she couldn't bring herself to tell the internet outright, so a vague text post would have to do.

She refreshed the page and scrolled down a little. Someone's ask about Doctor Who? Like. Re-blog. A black-and-white gifset of Benedict as Sherlock? Like. Re-blog.

“That's enough,” Jasmine laughed quietly to herself, closing down chrome and opening Spotify. She knew that if any more time was spent on tumblr, she'd never be able to get off. Or rather, it would take her a good two hours to realize she should sleep and stop snickering at various captioned gifs that suggested John was trying to touch the butt.

Jasmine felt too tired to follow her original plan of reading until she fell asleep.

“Curse being sick,” she muttered, as she double-clicked on the play-list titled “Sleep”, which contained quite a few of her favourite relaxing songs. Granted, most of them weren't what others would consider “relaxing” at all. Namely, a selection of remarkably non-relaxing Panic! At The Disco songs and Ed Sheeran's “You Need Me, I Don't Need You”, amongst others.

Control Panel to tell her laptop that it should stay on all night and not turn off when she closed it, then set the volume to 20 and place the laptop back in its spot atop her desk. Jasmine was ready to sleep.

As she drifted off, her mind vaguely suggested that she had forgotten something again, but the thought was too fleeting for her to grasp. Dreams—hopefully not horrid nightmares like earlier—awaited her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have indeed started on Chapter 4. Fingers crossed for a quick update xxx  
> Feedback, positive or otherwise, is always welcomed.  
> [that tumblr does exist; I am not self-promoting; you may ignore it al-together.]


	4. Her Knight In Shining Armour Wears A Beret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting in front of the coughdrops leads far beyond what either of them could have ever anticipated.
> 
> Chapter 4 of "Coughdrops"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again; I hope everyone's having a wonderful day.  
> My sincerest apologies, because I had this finished by noon, but then my computer crashed (multiple times--thankfully I didn't lose information) and then decided to update itself (which took hours) so here I am.  
> This chapter's longer than the previous ones.  
> I hope you enjoy! xx

“ _Love gimme love gimme love I don't need it—_ ”

Jasmine stirred in her sleep. She was a deep sleeper; it took quite a bit to wake her up in the mornings, which is why she had started setting loud, fast-paced songs as her alarms. Unfortunately, it still usually took a few rounds of a good MCR ballad for her to surface from the world of dreams.

“— _but I'll take what I want from your heart and I'll keep it—_ ”

Today did not appear to be one of those days.

“— _in a bag—_ ”

“In a box,” muttered Jasmine sleepily. “Put an X on the floor, gimme more gimme more gimme more.” She sat up slightly and located her mobile, shutting off the alarm then flopping back down.

“Morning, morning,” she groaned, rubbing her eyes. “Ugh.”

Needless to say, she was not a morning person.

“Good morning. Eh. Wish I could sleep more.”

That was not going to happen, though, so she clumsily rolled out of bed. She was still wearing the same outfit from yesterday—having forgotten to change into pyjamas before falling asleep—and she needed to find some fresh clothes.

Jasmine trudged over to her wardrobe and opened it, causing a mini avalanche of various fabrics to tumble out. No matter how many times she tried reorganizing, something would always explode free onto her floor when the wardrobe doors were unlocked.

She rummaged through the pile that was now strewn across her feet and located her loosest pair of light blue jeans, a red plaid button-up with long sleeves, and her black denim jacket. This was a usual outfit for her; she liked to be comfortable, and would not wear anything fancy if she could help it. Her attire was always neat and clean, however, so she still looked adequately presentable. No ripped shorts or crop tops for sure.

Piling the remainder of her clothes haphazardly back into the wardrobe took a minute, but everything fit and that was—in Jasmine's opinion—what really mattered. The wardrobe got re-organized every month, but always managed to return to a state of disarray. She had long given up trying to keep it consistently tidy.

Jasmine quickly snagged some knickers and a sports bra before closing the wardrobe doors, then turned and made her way towards the loo, clothing in hand. Walking left out of her bedroom in a diagonal line led her to enter through the loo door, which was across the hall.

Once inside, she wriggled out of her black jeans, then black sweatshirt, then green shirt; all clothes from the day before. Off went her old knickers and bra, on went the new ones. Then she located her toothbrush from the medicine cabinet to the left of the sink, and ran it under the tap. Since she had forgotten to buy toothpaste while at the convenience store, Jasmine poured a little mouthwash over her toothbrush instead.

“Th's 'ill 'aff oo g'oo,” she said with her mouth full, giving herself a disdainful look in the large rectangular mirror above the sink. It _would_ have to do, at least until she returned to the shop and purchased some proper teeth-cleaning supplies.

“Yuck, I hate that mouthwash,” she muttered, spitting into the sink. She rinsed off her toothbrush, placed it carefully back in its spot amongst the dental floss and q-tips, and took out her deodorant. It was the gel kind, which meant it was cold. Cold and wet.

“Just like the weather.”

After flapping her arms about for a bit, it had dried sufficiently, and Jasmine started getting dressed for the day. Jeans were pulled on first, then the plaid shirt quickly buttoned, and the jacket was tied around her waist for later.

“And now, one of the morning's biggest mysteries,” she remarked, picking up her discarded clothes. “Where on earth is my hairbrush.”

A quick peek in the medicine cabinet affirmed her suspicion that it was not to be found in its supposed home, where it belonged and _should stay_ but never did. She pulled open all the drawers under the sink, but no luck there, either.

“Off to the bedroom,” she said in a sing-song voice.

She walked out of the loo and down the hallway, nearly tripped on the carpet-border that separated her bedroom from the hall, then deposited her pile of laundry at the foot of her bed, intending to take care of it properly later on.

No hairbrush on her desk. No hairbrush on her wardrobe. No hairbrush under her bed, on top of her bed, or next to her bed on the floor.

“Okay, I give up in here, maybe it's in the kitchen.” A valid hypothesis. After all, she had found it under the refrigerator once.

Jasmine grabbed her bag off the desk and exited her bedroom. The bag was one of her favourite possessions; her grandfather had given it to her before she left America. It was in the style of a messenger bag, was made of black leather, and her laptop fit inside it perfectly. It also had plenty of room for all the other odd things she carried around with her.

A glance at the kitchen clock, which was positioned on the wall next to the table, told her that she should hurry up. 8:12, it said. The library opened at 9:00, and she would get there directly after 9 if she timed it well.

She switched on the electric kettle and grabbed a teabag, placing it on the counter next to the sugar-jar. Her bag was set on the table, and she then began the search for her hairbrush.

“MIA,” Jasmine stated, opening cupboards and peeking inside each one.

“Or wait, maybe it's more AWOL,” she corrected thoughtfully as she checked inside the dishwasher.

“On the other hand—aHA!” The hairbrush was found. “Hiding next to my Cumberbiscuits, ey, well you don't get any because they're all mine.”

She ran it though her hair, which was a lot easier to do since she got it cut. She had super thick, reddish-brown coloured hair. It used to go down nearly to her arse, until she had fourteen inches scissored off—and donated to a charity called “Locks of Love”. It was an organization that made wigs for children who had cancer. Jasmine had done it twice before, and was intent on continuing to do so.

Now her hair was just long enough to reach her shoulders, which meant two things. First, that it was much easier to brush, and not as time-consuming. Second—and this was the less appealing factor—it was very fluffy. On good days she looked presentable; on bad days she looked like her head was a giant pom-pom.

Fortunately, today was a good day.

Jasmine finished brushing and set the hairbrush on the kitchen table, knowing it would soon disappear again.

“And the kettle's ready!” she exclaimed happily, turning and heading towards the cupboard to retrieve a teacup.

“...and I was supposed to phone mum yesterday. Damn. I'll do it now—no wait I can't, it's only 3-ish back there. Damn again. I'll do it later, where's my pen.”

She detoured away from the kettle and grabbed a magnetic pen off the refrigerator, then wrote “ _CALL MUM LATER_ ” on the underside of her left wrist. Otherwise, she'd forget again.

“Al-right, tea and biscuits here I come, then pop off,” she said as she set a teabag in the cup and poured hot water over it. She quickly grabbed a Cumberbiscuit from its packaging and stuck it in her mouth, leaving her hands free to scoop up some coughdrops and deposit them into one of her bag's pockets, then find a spoon and clumsily deposit two spoons of sugar into her tea.

 _8:24_ the clock read as Jasmine put down the biscuit and gave the tea a quick stir, then took a sip, scalding her mouth.

“Damn for a third time!”

She picked up the biscuit again and stuck it in her mouth, then untied the jacket from around her waist and pulled it on.

“Suppose I'll have to drink tea when I get back,” she said mournfully, chewing on the mouthful of biscuit. “I'd best get going.”

She grabbed her black bag off the table and headed for the door. It took a minute to slip on her dark green trainers—laces weren't Jasmine's allies, apparently—then straighten up and grab her flat-keys off a hook to her right.

She started coughing.

“Hell.”

She unlocked the door and let herself out, turned around and double-checked that she'd closed and locked it properly, and started walking. Three flights of stairs left her slightly winded, and a small cough escaped as she exited the main door of the flat-building.

As she began the five-to-seven-minute journey that would lead her directly to an entrance to the tube, she pulled out a coughdrop from her bag. This time, she didn't pay any attention to what was written on the packaging, choosing instead to stuff the small wrapper into her jeans pocket before popping the red sphere into her mouth. Then she reached into her bag again, quickly locating her headphones and iPod.

 _And you can take all the pain away from me_ , she sang along in her head as the music started. _A kiss and I will remember..._

After going through the song two and a half times—it was on repeat—she found herself next to the white, blue, and red sign that marked her destination.

Fortunately, there weren't too many people out, and the queues weren't as long as they could have been. She passed through quickly with no mishaps—apart from nearly dropping her Oyster Card, which would have made her panic—and soon found herself standing next to the tracks, waiting.

Jasmine checked her watch. _8:31_.

 _Four minutes_ , she thought, pleased with her timing. It looked like she would get to the library on the dot, as planned.

She switched the “repeat 1” on her iPod to “repeat all”, and a new song began to play.

 _Fadin' fast,_ she started mentally singing again. _I miss missing you now and then_.

That was how Jasmine passed the time. Listening to music. If she didn't have her iPod with her, she would sing—out loud if nobody was around, in her head if there were people who might be bothered.

A loud hooting came from the depths of the tunnel to her left, audible despite the large headphones Jasmine was wearing, startling her and drawing her mind back to the present.

The train whizzed by, creating a wind that swept around her hair and prevented her from seeing. Once it came to a halt and the wind ceased, she quickly pushed her hair out of her eyes and moved to stand next to a set of doors.

A few passengers exited from within, but as Jasmine stepped through the doors, she realized there was not a single seat available. Sighing inwardly, she navigated past the people who were standing and, realizing that there was no metal pole near an exit for her to hold onto, positioned herself in front of a row, ignoring the people sat there. Jasmine quickly reached up to grasp one of the rubber loops that hung down. The library was three stops away, so she didn't particularly mind that she had to stand.

The train began to move, and Jasmine closed her eyes, letting the music sweep over her. Her body swayed almost unnoticeably to the beat, and her left foot tapped gently on the floor.

 _I want the guts and glory, baby_ , her headphones sang.

A few verses into that song, the train came to a halt. Jasmine knew without opening her eyes that quite a few more people had gotten on; it was always the busiest stop.

Someone jostled her arm as they stood in the spot on her right. They probably apologized as well, but Jasmine couldn't hear or see them, nor did she need to.

 _Anything you say can and will be held against you_. The train started again. _So only say my name_. It was quite bumpy, the stretch of track they were travelling on at the moment. Jasmine had fallen over before—multiple times—whilst riding this section, and she hoped that there wouldn't be another repeat of those incidents. Knowing her luck, however, she held on extra tight to the rubber loop, keeping her eyes closed.

And that was her mistake.

 _BUMP_ went the train over a particularly nasty bit of track.

Jasmine's eyes shot open as she lost her footing, her brain moving quickly to take in the fact that she would fall onto the lap of a rather large gentleman in a suit and it couldn't be helped—

She stopped abruptly.

Or rather, _something_ stopped her abruptly. She looked down. One large and very strong arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her upright. Her headphones—which had slid a bit during her descent—fell off completely.

“—and I had a feeling you'd lose your balance, since your eyes were closed and it's so bumpy, I'm so sorry miss, I had to catch you—”

Jasmine could now hear the person—the man—who'd saved her from an unpleasant landing. He was speaking quickly and fairly quietly right next to her ear, so that his voice would reach her despite the noisy surroundings.

“I—I'm sorry,” Jasmine said, and stood up properly, reaching again to grab onto the rubber loop.

The man was still holding onto her.

“Are you al-right?” he asked into her ear.

“Yes, I think I'm fine,” she responded, turning to her right to face him as he loosened his grip. They were standing so close together that the only part of him she could really see was from his shoulders up. He was wearing a dark purple, plaid-patterned beret with a small brim, and it looked like it was made of flannel. The hat was pulled down low over his face, obscuring his identity from the people around him.

Except for Jasmine. There was a height difference between them of what she guessed was about 10 centimetres or so, which put her face right below his and gave her the perfect view of his features.

“That's good, glad to hear it, my apologies for taking the liberty of touching you without permission but I didn't want you to get hurt.” He was still speaking.

“I—” she stuttered, as she got a good look at her saviour. “Y-yes, thank you so much, really, I greatly appreciate—”

The train went over another bump.

Jasmine stumbled into the man's chest, her bag swinging forward and knocking him in the leg. They spoke at the same time.

“Ah! Oh God I'm so sorry—”

“Sorry, are you okay—”

He stopped, then let out a laugh.

“Oh dear,” Jasmine said, embarrassed. “I'm not usually this clumsy, I swear!”

“No, it's fine, it didn't hurt.” He hesitated. “Not _that_ much.”

Jasmine felt mortified, and her face turned red.

He smiled teasingly at her, face crinkling in mirth.

“What on earth is _in_ there? It must weight a ton, how—”

The train came to an abrupt stop, and the man looked up.

“This is my stop, got to run, be a bit more careful and don't fall over again, cheers!”

And with that, he was gone.

Jasmine stood still, feeling a bit like she was in shock. She jumped when the large gentleman sitting in the row coughed angrily, then she hurriedly moved to the side so he could pass.

The doors closed. Jasmine quickly took the now-empty seat before she lost her balance again.

As the train began to move, she felt herself go limp, then let out a completely disbelieving, slightly squeaky, very shaky laugh.

“Fucking Benedict Cumberbatch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would be appreciated, as always. xx
> 
> I have yet to begin Chapter 5, but hopefully I will begin working on it tomorrow.  
> At any rate, expect an update sometime next week.


	5. Next Time, Double-Check First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting in front of the coughdrops leads far beyond what either of them could have ever anticipated.
> 
> Chapter 5 of "Coughdrops"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's shorter than normal by a great deal (the previous chapter is double the normal length though, so perhaps that makes up for this one?) and I am SO SORRY, I wrote this in a hurry on the bus to uni, and I really wanted to update it today (I think that Thursdays will [hopefully] be update days for "Coughdrops"), and that's sort of it for this chapter, it doesn't want more in it. So sort of a filler, I guess.   
> Please bear with me; I know how frustrating it is, but I swear we're getting to the interesting bit.  
> Complaints are welcome in the comments, doubly so if you're Scottish and want to yell at me for my phrasing. Apologies.  
> xx

_Because the only hope for me is you alone._

Jasmine moved her sleeve and took a glance at her wristwatch. After finishing the train ride and making the short walk to the library, it was now 8:57. Three minutes until the library opened, and she was already sitting on the front steps. Great timing as always.

 _I've got three minutes,_ Jasmine thought, _so..._

Whatever it was she was going to continue with got swept away, and was replaced by the memories of the train ride. Her eyes lost focus, no longer staring intently at an ant on the pavement, as she mentally re-enacted her fall into Benedict's chest.

_He was warm...and he smelled nice, sort of like...pine needles and cinnamon buns...and books..._

She frowned a bit. Was it even possible for a person to smell of books? Jasmine herself had sniffed books many times; old books, new books, books with coffee spilt on them, books with gold-dusted pages and books without. There was an odd scent on Benedict that she could only place as being that of a book; and if she was wrong, oh well, it was a nice idea.

 _I really can't believe I've run into him twice now,_ she thought, a small smile creeping up on her face. _He's really something, isn't he..._

"And what're ye smilin' aboot, luv," a deepish voice cut through her thoughts, startling her and making her jump.

"Gladys!" Jasmine exclaimed, quickly removing her headphones and standing up to greet the lady in front of her. Gladys was the head librarian. A robust Scottish woman of 54, she was the same height as Jasmine, yet still seemed to tower over her.

"Ge' on, then," Gladys said as she strode past. Jasmine obligingly moved out of the way. "So, t'at smile?"

Jasmine wasn't sure, but she suspected that her face reddened.

"M-my favourite song," she stammered.

"Ah, which 'un?"

"Currently 'The Mighty Fall', it's brilliant."

Gladys turned and raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Y'sure, luv, ta be honest it look'd a smile o' an adorin' lass." She disappeared through the large library door.

Jasmine blinked, then followed.

"Adoring a song, maybe," she laughed as Gladys switched on the lights. "But a man, certainly not!"

"If ye say so, Jess. Books?"

Gladys's pet name for Jasmine, who didn't mind as people called her a large number of variations on her name, was "Jess".

"I'm actually picking up a book for Hope, she said she'd gotten a text saying it was ready."

Gladys plunked her large—and very jingly—set of keys onto the main desk, then sauntered out of the room, calling "I'll fetch et" to Jasmine as she left.

The library was a small one, maintained only by Gladys, two elderly women named Janis and Pam, and an even more ancient bloke named Charlie. The books were old, the few computers that they had ran slowly and were well in need of a software update, and the carpets were greatly worn down and faded to the point that nobody could remember their original colour, though it may be suspected that they were once some shade of green, or quite possibly yellow.

Jasmine loved it.

She had a thing for quaint old places, and if you stuck her in any library filled with well-used books, she was more likely to begin reading straight-away than remembering to thank you. Bonus if the floors were carpeted.

"I don't see et, Jess," Gladys boomed, out of sight.

"What? It should be there though, shouldn't it?"

"It's no go', lass, I search'd the room twice an' Hope's got no books on 'er shelf," the woman said as she returned to the main desk.

"Oh." Jasmine was puzzled.

"Meanin'," Gladys continued, "et was pro'ly sent out on accident, and the book's stell in et's box. Should be sor'ed out by t'morrow, Jess, bu' I'll call ye when I confirm et wit' me own eyes, aye? Didn't go t' trouble comin' here, did ye?"

Jasmine couldn't help a tiny smile from creeping onto her face.

"No, no trouble at all. You know I love to come visit anyhow, Gladys. I don't have anything to do today, so I may as well stay a bit. Is it al-right if I'm here for a few hours?"

Gladys nodded without looking up, busy sorting papers.

"Welcome as always, lass, stay the day if ye like."

"Thank you," Jasmine said gratefully, then moved towards the tiny staircase that was partially hidden behind a shelf of books. She carefully ascended the steep steps, trying hard not to make them creak, then found herself at the top.

The "upstairs" was really just one large room with bookshelves for walls. Most of them were intact, but there were two, side by side, with all the pieces missing but the thin wood-backing. With Gladys's permission, Jasmine had done some work on them and transformed that section into a little reading corner. Cushions and patterned fabric covered every square inch of the dark-coloured wood from the broken shelves and the sides of the shelves adjacent, and a small, low table stood nearby, perfect for stacking books on.

Jasmine quickly retrieved a large pile of random books from the shelves, and made herself comfortable. A silent room in a library, filled with books, smelling of books, with cushions and carpeted flooring, and a whole stack of books for reading on a lazy afternoon? Nothing was much better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am preparing myself to get shouted at. Please proceed.
> 
> As soon as I post this I'm starting on the next chapter; look forward to it on Thursday of next week!!   
> *sat here crossing my fingers in the hopes that I make the deadline*
> 
> Feedback is lovely if you are so inclined :)  
> xx


	6. Potatoes Are Painful When Dropped On One's Foot [or, "Hello Lovelies, I Have Returned"]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting in front of the coughdrops leads far beyond what either of them could have ever anticipated.
> 
> Chapter 6 of "Coughdrops"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, lovelies!   
> Hopefully I will fall into the usual update-pattern, but at this point, I am unable to tell.  
> Ah well, here's the next chapter for you, and fingers crossed that the next one is soon to come!  
> xxx

"Oh f—seriously? I'd hoped I was wrong...I can't believe I messed up like that!" Jasmine exclaimed.

" _S'alright, Jess, jus' pick et up t'_ _day_ _, aye? I'll hold et for ye 'til then,_ " Gladys's voice came from Jasmine's mobile, which was set on speaker-phone and lying on the kitchen counter whilst she busied her hands with food.

"Al-right, I will," she said, then dropped a potato on her foot. " _Christ_. Honestly though, I'm so sorry for bothering you, I really need to work on monitoring what comes out of my mouth. Tabita's going to have a laugh when she finds out."

" _I reckon so,_ " Gladys chuckled. " _How's yer mum, lass?_ "

Jasmine's mother had phoned just as she was about to leave the library, and they'd talked the entire time it took Jasmine to get back to the flat. She'd promptly collapsed after that and slept the whole rest of the afternoon and through til morning, and woke up feeling refreshed and not at all sick.

After which, Jasmine reflected on the day before, and begun to have a sneaking suspicion that she'd asked for Hope's books instead of Tabita's. She couldn't quite remember, but she was almost positive, which warranted a self-inflicted slap to the face and a call to Gladys. Turned out she had, indeed, screwed up.

"Oh she's grand, she and my dad are taking the little ones to California; they're helping my granddad move back there.” She searched for the cutting-board.

“ _South Carolina didn't werk out, then?_ ”

“No, it—ah, God damn—turned out that he's better off in Cali. Reena's sweet and all, but she's a bit much, especially since he's used to living by himself. Mum says hi, by the way.”

After Jasmine moved to England, she had become quite homesick—despite having Tabita with her—until she met Gladys who, in all honesty, filled the role of mum, grandmum, aunt, sister, and friend. Jasmine had immediately told her family about Gladys; thus, she and Jasmine's mum were on good terms, and often sent each other emails.

“ _Tell 'er I say hi back,_ ” Gladys said.

Jasmine located the cutting-board successfully and placed it on the counter.

“Will do. I'll see you in a bit, yeah? Bye Gladys.”

“ _Mornin', Jess_.” _CLICK_.

Having retrieved six potatoes from her refrigerator, Jasmine turned on the tap and deposited them in the sink. She then grabbed a large glass bowl and set it on the counter next to the cutting-board.

“And your heart beat in reverse, our guts can't be re-worked, as alone as a little white church in the middle of the desert gettin burned,” she started singing as she washed the potatoes. “But I'll take, your heart hm hm hm hmmm, la da da du du du, I'm a lonelier version of you, I just don't know where I went wrong.” Granted, she didn't know all the words to that one yet, but it was just _so fun_ to sing.

“But you need, to lower, potato,” she belted out enthusiastically, then snorted.

The potatoes were now sufficiently clean, and she began to peel them. It took two rounds of “Young Volcanoes” to finish, and the loud bit of “Planetary (GO!)” to chop the potatoes into three-centimetre cubes whilst wiggling her bum to the rhythm.

She deposited the cubes into the waiting glass bowl, then turned on the tap again and drummed her fingers on the counter as the bowl filled. Once it held a good amount of water, she returned to her refrigerator and got ice cubes from the freezer side, then dumped a handful in amongst the potato cubes.

“Well, that's a bit I don't have to do later,” Jasmine said happily. “Shepherd's Pie is delicious, but it takes a good while. Worth it, though.”

She quickly skidded to the bedroom in sock-covered feet, removed her pyjamas, and pulled on the same jeans she'd worn yesterday. This time, she decided on a grey t-shirt under an unbuttoned plaid one—long-sleeved, like yesterday's choice, but light blue with grey and white plaid-stripes.

Her brush was, miraculously, on the desk in plain sight. Jasmine ran it through her hair a few times, then found a nearby hair-tie and—with a bit of trouble—pulled her hair into a low ponytail.

“Mobile, keys, bag, headphones. Ready to go.”

She grabbed a Cumberbiscuit from its packaging and stuck it in her mouth as she meandered towards the door. Without dropping the biscuit, she slipped on her black trainers—which were easier to deal with than the green ones—and let herself out of the flat.

The walk to the tube went by quickly; Jasmine wasn't really paying attention to her surroundings, choosing instead to listen to her music and let her thoughts tumble around with no particular conclusion in mind.

A long queue awaited her, as did the already-present train. Once she got through the doors and luckily managed to secure a seat, the train began to move, and she couldn't help but glance around at the people nearby.

_I wonder if I'll see Benedict,_ Jasmine thought as the next station steadily approached. _This is where he got on yesterday, maybe he'll be here again..._

The doors opened and let a flood of people out, which made way for the even larger flood of people coming in. Short ladies, tall teenage boys, older couples, and small children; people in business suits and people in street clothes; but nobody who looked remotely Cumberbatch-ish.

Jasmine let out a small sigh, surprising herself. She knew that an insane amount of luck had been on her side to let her encounter Benedict twice, but, despite her self-scolding, she couldn't help being a bit disappointed.

As the train bumped along, she closed her eyes and held onto the metal pole—sitting down, she was hopefully in no danger of falling over, but one never knew—and went through the memories of yesterday, attempting to vividly re-create the train scene in her mind. _He's so tall...I knew he was tall, but it's different to see him in person...that was a nice hat...he's so polite...at the shop, too...I wonder if he recognized me..._


	7. Looks Like I Owe You 5 Quid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting in front of the coughdrops leads far beyond what either of them could have ever anticipated.
> 
> Chapter 7 of "Coughdrops"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An update?? So soon??? And it's so long????
> 
> Hello darlings, as you can see, I've been busy!  
> Read on, as these two are about to have their first proper conversation.  
> [it's about time, too...]
> 
> Enjoy!  
> xxx

“Good morning!” Jasmine sang, as she twirled dramatically through the library's front doors. The weather was slightly warmer than the previous week had been, and it was sunny out. This put her in a very good mood indeed.

“Shushhhhh!”

Apparently, nice weather did not have the same effect on everyone.

“Gladys?” Jasmine called, looking around for the librarian.

“Over 'ere,” came a muffled Scottish accent from the general left side of the room.

Jasmine walked towards a bookshelf and peered behind it. There, as she has suspected, stood Gladys, with her arms full of books.

“What are—” she began, but was quickly silenced by an intense glare.

“Mornin' Jess,” Gladys whispered. “Ye know I'm always glad ta see ya, tis great that ye came and appear ta be in a gud mood, but...”

She shuffled closer, careful not to drop any books. Jasmine glanced down and saw that they were relationship-advice books. It must be that section's reorganization day.

“...we. 'ave. a. customer.”

“What?!”

“Shush!”

Jasmine's eyes widened, and she couldn't help turning and inspecting the room, trying to search out the elusive visitor. There was no one there. No sound of rustling pages, no quiet cough from a reader, not even breathing noises.

“Where?” Jasmine asked, careful to keep her voice low this time.

“'E's upstairs, lass,” muttered Gladys as she resumed the categorization of her books. “Didn't check out nothin', jus' said 'e wanted ta read a bit. So I sent 'im up; I assume yer readin' corner has been taken.”

Jasmine blinked.

“And b'fore ye ask, no, I've not seen 'im before. Sort of strange, though.”

“How so?”

“I dunno...'e's got a _look_ about 'im, if ye catch my meanin'. Sor' of...like one o' them intellectual types. Mebbe 'e's a professor?”

Jasmine shrugged.

“Could be, I mean, who else would come down here at this time of day? It's not like there are many regulars, even I normally wouldn't be here. Except I messed up the book order.” She looked at the woman sheepishly. “Sorry about that, by the way. I'm always mucking things up.”

With a smile, Gladys shook her head, then deposited the last book in its proper place.

“Don't worry abou' it, Jess. I put it up—oh.”

Jasmine bit her lip.

“It's upstairs, isn't it.”

“'Fraid so.”

“I'll just have to fetch it, then. Thanks for holding onto it. I'll pop down to say goodbye after I'm finished.”

Gladys ambled over to the front desk, and Jasmine made her way to the small staircase.

“Oi, Jess!” called the librarian.

“Aye?”

“I'm bettin' ye 5 quid ya strike up a conversation wit' the professor. Ye go 'round thinkin' yer in people's way, bu' really, 's not the case. I'm fairly certain ye'll find someone t' talk with, and ya owe me if this bloke's th' one.”

“Deal,” she chuckled, then began climbing the stairs. As she drew closer and closer to her favourite room, her mind filled itself with wild fantasies concerning the mysterious customer. Who was he? Why was he there? If he was indeed a professor, how come he wasn't at the more prestigious library half an hour away? They had a larger selection of books there, surely it would be better suited to his needs? Perhaps he was doing research for a class, or finding sources for a new book.

Intellectual men – and women – were Jasmine's weakness. Not that she was looking for any sort of relationship whatsoever, but it helped to keep an eye out in case one bumped into one's soulmate – cheesy as it sounds. She'd always fancied the smart ones. In fact, since she was a small child, her mum had always insisted that Jasmine's future parter would be an older, brilliant man, one who could keep up with the unpredictable thoughts that roamed the girl's head ever since she could speak.

Having neared the top of the staircase, Jasmine paused to take a deep breath. It was best to prepare herself for whatever sight lay just out of reach.

_I'm being ridiculous about this. Just go in, get Tabita's book, and get out. There's 5 quid in it for me if I don't waste time._

She shook her head slightly, then leapt quickly up the last few steps.

The first place she looked was at an old armchair on the right side of the room – but it was empty. It had been too much to hope that the mysterious visitor would stay away from Jasmine's special reading place, so with an inward sigh, she turned her gaze to the other side of the room.

Big feet.

That was all she could see from where she stood at the moment. Big feet clad in even larger trainers that were similar in colour to her own. A bit of the man's jeans were also visible, as were his socks, which appeared to be a quite alarming shade of orange. He sat, body parallel to the wall, his back towards the staircase and resting against the side of a bookshelf, with his legs stretched out in front of him. His feet nearly touched the side of the other bookshelf, which showed that his legs must be very long.

Since he was, indeed, sitting in Jasmine's reading spot, she wouldn't be able to retrieve Tabita's book without an encounter.

_Here goes nothing_ , she thought, as she purposefully strode towards the man. _I'll ask him if he's seen a book with a paper taped to it that says “Tabita”, and if he hasn't, I'll ask him to move so I can search for it myself. That shouldn't be too hard._

“Excuse me, sir! Have you, by any chance, come across a book—” she began, drawing near enough to see him properly. Her step faltered, and she was stuck, an unfinished question hanging in the air as her mind whirled.

The man looked up and blinked confusedly at the young woman standing next to him. She was rather pretty, dressed in casual clothes, and looked as if she had been speaking to him. Her mouth was slightly open, and her hazel eyes widened.

He furrowed his brow and wondered what it was he had done this time. She did appear to have been speaking to him, but he was so engrossed in his book that he probably didn't hear.

_How rude of me_ , he thought, then picked up a nearby leaf of paper and stuck it between the book's open pages. As he glanced back up at the still-silent girl, he realized that she looked familiar.

“I know you!” he exclaimed cheerfully, a smile lighting up his face. “You're the girl from the shop! And the train! I knew I'd seen you around before, how fucking thick am I not to have realized it sooner, hello, how are you? I'm Benedict.”

He sat up, removing his feet from the bench and placing them on the floor, then held out his hand. She didn't respond.

“Oh, but of course you already knew that, you called me 'Mr. Cumberbatch' back in the store; how's your cold, by the way? Did the coughdrops help any? I'm afraid I've eaten nearly a whole bag since I purchased mine – oh but I'm rambling again, please excuse me.”

His hand was still extended. Jasmine, to be fair, was a bit in shock.

_Benedict...he remembered me..._

She blinked.

_Oh my god, Benedict! He's going to think I'm an idiot!_

She blinked again, then reached out her own hand to shake his.

“Terribly sorry about that,” she laughed sheepishly, “I was a tad out of it for a moment there. Nice to run into you again, sir!”

He smiled warmly at her, his hand encompassing hers.

“Please, call me Benedict. It's nice to run into you again as well – in a figurative sense of the word!” He chuckled as a faint blush coloured her cheeks. _The bag incident actually hadn't hurt that much; in retrospect, it was quite funny_ , he thought. He'd even proceeded to tell Amanda about it whilst they were reading over their scripts. “However, I am afraid you have the advantage, as I do not know your name. Care to enlighten me?”

She nodded.

“My name is Jasmine.”

_Yes, my name is Jasmine, and you are Benedict, and you are still holding my hand, good lord, did I fall on the staircase and end up in a coma, because this dream is –_

“Jasmine,” he said, interrupting her train of thought, “that is a lovely name. Oh, please sit down!”

He moved the pile of books out of the way, making room for her to take a seat, which she quickly did.

Jasmine briefly mourned the loss of his hand, until she spotted what he'd been reading. Or rather, what he'd used for a bookmark.

“Um, excuse me, Benedict, but may I ask where you found that book?” she inquired, pointing to the worn copy of _The Great Gatsby_ he held in his left hand.

“Oh, this? This was on top of that shelf over there,” he pointed in the general direction of the corner, “and it's been absolute ages since I last read it – there was this paper taped on the cover, so I assumed it belonged to someone, but I figured one careful read wouldn't hurt. Why do you ask, should I not have touched it?”

Jasmine shook her head, and smiled. She was beginning to calm down, and even felt a little relaxed. “No, it's fine, but that book is actually what I came here to pick up. My friend needs to read it, you see, and I'm constantly here, so I told her I'd bring it back to her. I came to get it yesterday, but...” She stopped, not wanting to bore him, but he looked genuinely interested.

“But?” Benedict prompted her, and tilted his head slightly.

“But I accidentally told Gladys that I needed a different friend's book. So here I am again; not that I mind, but I did mess up. Which, in retrospect, is actually kind of funny.”

He blinked at her choice of words. _I could have sworn that I thought the exact same thing earlier._

Jasmine looked briefly looked down at the book again, then returned her gaze to his eyes. _His beautiful eyes...stop it, now is not the time!_

“So, what brings you here? I've never seen you around, and Gladys certainly doesn't know who you are.”

Benedict laughed.

“She really doesn't! I think she's quite suspicious of me, in fact.”

Jasmine couldn't help grinning. “Go on, tell me. Did she throw something at you or accuse you of witchcraft? No, wait. I bet she splashed drops of holy water at you.”

“Yes! So it was holy water, then? This is what happened, I entered the building, and everything's completely silent, so I began to wonder if the library had reached closing time. All of a sudden, this woman comes rushing towards me.”

Benedict gestured wildly, flapping his hands about, then squinted his eyes and let out a perfect imitation of the old Scottish woman.

“Ye lads 'a better not touched me roses! I'll 'ave yer ears for it, I swear! Jess'll come after ya! Begone, I say!”

“Oh no!” Jasmine squeaked, trying to hold in her laughter but failing miserably.

“I know, I know!” Benedict grinned, “but it gets better! After she realized it was me and not a group of children, she reached into her blouse and pulled out what looked like a canteen? Then she opened it, poured a small amount on her fingers, and flicked it in my face! I didn't know what to do, I thought, should I leave or try to stay and see what happens?”

“Oh my gosh, I'll have to talk to her later. You know, when I came in, she was organizing books, and when I tried to say hi, she shushed me! We never get visitors here, you see, just a few regulars here and there, so I doubt she knew _what_ to think! She then proceeded to say that there was a customer with an intellectual sort of look about him, and I'm fairly certain she's decided that you're a university professor of some sort.”

Benedict, still chuckling, now looked bemused.

“A professor? Oh my, I'll have to set that straight. Can't have an actor rising above his status, now, can we?”

“So,” Jasmine said, coming down from her giggling, “what _does_ bring you here? I'd have thought that you'd be up at Kensington.”

“Normally I would, but they've closed briefly for renovation. There was a leak, and the rain got in, so there's a team up on the roof.”

Jasmine looked at him, worried. “Was anything damaged?”

_She's concerned about the books?_

“I'd hate for any of those lovely books to get hurt,” she continued.

_My god, she is. That's...rather lovely, actually._

“I asked as soon as I could get in touch with Greer. He assured me that the leak had been above the carpeted staircase, which really was al-right since he'd been meaning to have it replaced soon anyway.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Jasmine sighed, and looked down again at _Gatsby._

Benedict's eyes followed her gaze.

“Right!” he exclaimed, “I should give this to you so your friend doesn't have to wait, I'm deeply sorry for holding you up.”

He held out the book, expecting her to take it and leave – with maybe a small thank you – and was surprised when she put her hand on his and gently pushed it back.

“I'm in no hurry. She doesn't need it immediately, and I have no plans for today, anyway. Besides, you're almost finished, right? What part are you on?”

He couldn't help a small smile from creeping onto his face. “The argument. Gatsby and Daisy are about to drive off, and – oh, I shouldn't say.”

“About to drive off and run over you-know-who? Don't worry, that's one of my favourites, I've read it more times than I can count,” Jasmine assured him, as she stood up. “You go ahead and enjoy the rest, I'll be over here reading. Let me know when you've finished, if you don't mind? I have a habit of losing track of time.”

Benedict shook his head. “As do I, I'm afraid. But I shall strive not to.”

She smiled at him, then turned and headed for the armchair. Benedict watched as she gathered a small armful of books from a nearby shelf, then tucked herself into a ball and opened one at random.

_What's she reading,_ he couldn't help wondering. _I'm curious to know what books she likes..._

As he removed the bookmark and picked up where he left off, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was eventually going to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! They've spoken! Rejoice!
> 
> My goodness, these two have minds of their own. They're constantly surprising me!
> 
> I do hope you enjoyed this chapter of Coughdrops. Feedback is always appreciated; I love to know what you think!
> 
> Drop by again soon; I have a feeling that Ben and Jasmine aren't going to stay quiet for long...(no! I need to do my uni revision! must not write more!)
> 
> xxx


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